Thursday, February 10, 2011

Thursday, 2-10-11

Thursday, 2-10-11

Today we covered the last of Rudolf Laban’s four energy qualities, and continued work in applying all of them to our animal characters. Laban’s energy qualities are weight, space, time, and flow, and each represents a spectrum: Light to strong weight, flexible to direct space, sustained to sudden time, and free to bound flow.

Florence generally has light weight, and sustained time, though if he is startled he may exhibit behaviors with sudden time. He moves from the extremities first (a feature of light weight), leading with his face, and tends to be very sustained in his motion. Though he can go back and forth in his use of space and flow, he is very direct in his use of space in his focus and attention to detail, and indirect in his openness to social interaction. His flow tends to be more bound, as he is a highly and meticulously put-together sort of person and tends to care deeply about his appearance, and thus takes care to restrain himself. But he can relax and be more free around the right people.

I spent about an hour today going over the parts of my Private Moment for tomorrow. I think it should work, if I can be specific enough in my choices from moment to moment. I’ll talk more about that tomorrow.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Wednesday, 2-9-11

Wednesday, 2-9-11

Ah, the wonders of sleep deprivation. I’ve been noticing that the more long-term tiredness I cultivate, the more strange sounds seem to come out of my mouth with a sort of giddy frivolity. So if that carries over into my writing, I apologize. There is hope on the horizon though! Tonight I should be able to get a more appropriate amount of rest.

Tiredness granted, it didn’t affect me much this morning. Acting was absolutely incredible today, because after we warmed up with Name-Tag we spent the rest of class working through a long Michael Chekhov exercise in movement qualities.

(Michael Chekhov)

Chekhov’s contribution to modern theater is incredibly important, and a most basic explanation of the contextualization of Chekhov is that Chekhov (Stanislavsky’s “most brilliant pupil”) differed from Stanislavsky in that where Stanislavsky believed that calling up memories of past experiences and thus achieving naturalistic acting was the only reliable source for a performer, Chekhov strongly believed that the actor’s imagination was at least as useful a tool and should be cultivated and practiced like anything else. This imagination, he believed, could be just as reliable if not more reliable in achieving true sensation as Stanislavsky’s method of self-searching.

Chekhov’s four qualities of movement were molding, floating, flying, and radiating/receiving. In our exercise today, Matt Gray talked us through four imagined scenarios (mostly with our eyes shut) corresponding to these qualities. First we moved slowly as if through warm clay. Each movement required almost the entirety of the body to engage, to push through and mold our own shape and the indentation we made in the clay. (I should note that this seems to tie into Rudolf Laban’s idea of weight—which we are covering in Movement—it being an example of strong weight.) The clay became less and less solid until it was muddy water and then cleared. Now observing in our imagination that we were at the bottom of a lake, we suddenly realized that our flesh and bone was transforming into air bubbles, from our toes, up our body, until we were entirely composed of air-bubbles and began to float toward the surface. Up out of the lake we floated, up to the clouds. The sun warmed our skin and we observed the lake far below us. Then we floated down to the branch of a tree, grew talons, feathers, a tail, wings, and a beak. We became birds and opened our eyes, seeing other birds in other trees. Then we spread our wings and flew, soared, circled each other in the air and alighted again on branches.

Of the four parts to the exercise, this was the one that required the most conscious imaginative effort on my part. One part of this was certainly that our eyes were open and we thus had to blend the line between our imagined inner life and our actual physical presence in the room. But more troublesome than that and what was so interesting was that in the process of “flying,” I became extremely frustrated with the actual physical constraints of the room. I wanted to fly faster and further than the Checco’s walls allowed. There didn’t seem to be enough space for all us birds. I wanted to soar and knew that I could if only the walls were removed. Dealing with this frustration was when my conscious imaginative work had to come in, to keep that frustration from disengaging me. Nonetheless, it didn’t require too much on my part, and I was still very much in it when we alighted a final time and allowed the wind to blow our feathers away, returning to human form.

In the last part of the exercise, we closed our eyes again and stepped onto a metal plate, which raised us into the air, higher and higher, until we left the Earth’s atmosphere itself and stood in space. We still felt the sun warming us, but gradually we put our hands on our chests and felt our hearts beginning to glow, like miniature suns. As our hearts glowed hotter and hotter, our whole body glowed with heat as well. But it wasn’t painful. We simply radiated energy: heat and light and positive feeling. We opened our eyes and looked at each other and spread our arms and radiated through the whole room. We felt energy spreading out from us to others and in return we received the energy put out by our class-mates.

This was arguably the most emotionally evocative part of the exercise, which is natural considering it was the last quality we worked in. Looking around though, it was interesting to see how some people beamed smiles, and others openly cried. I myself couldn’t help smiling, though I found there were certain people who I couldn’t look at because their expressions threatened to bring me down… and others who I loved to look at, with whom I could radiate and receive energy with ease and joy. Finally, we lowered our arms and looked back at the Earth, still radiating energy. We chose a particular place on Earth, a particular state, or city, or house, and pointed down at it, and radiated all our heat and light towards that place. Then the metal plate lowered us back to the Earth, to the location we chose, and we stepped off the plate, our eyes closed once again, observing this location. That was when Matt told us to return to the Studio.

If I had doubted my engagement with the exercise before (which I actually hadn’t, a big step forward for me since I have a bad habit of second-guessing everything), all such doubts would have disappeared when I experienced the surprisingly visceral resistance I felt to leaving my chosen location, which was New York City. Stepping off that metal plate, I had felt exactly as if I had stepped off a bus onto the sidewalk in New York. Though intellectually I knew that I was, in fact, not in New York, the place I had put my senses in was so vivid that I was noticeably disappointed and irritated in the moment that I reluctantly pulled myself back into Studio A.

The exercise is powerful because it relies on sensory experience rather than emotional states. Matt tells us we are “radiating energy in space” rather than that we are “happy” and emotion, more specific and strong emotion, I might add, simply follows. We mold our bodies through clay and feel one thing, and if we had gone back to molding through clay after having been engaged in the exercise as long as we were, we probably would have found it much more evocative. Molding is a good thing to play when a tired character is just waking up, for example. Instead of indicating tiredness, one concentrates on the sensual experience of waking up and feeling like it takes a whole-body effort to move a single appendage. As if moving through thick mud.

All in all, it was a pretty fucking cool experience.

For Friday, and for our Private Moments, Matt wants us to focus on two things: 1) to see how specific we can get with our ‘where’s (note how important the ‘where’s were in the different parts of the Chekhov work today) and 2) what movement quality is most appropriate for our animal character?

Though I’m not sure I know where my Private Moment will take place yet, I think Florence is really more of a radiating person than anything else. Flamingos are very social; that’s really their primary behavioral characteristic. So in a way they’re all about giving and receiving. Radiating is a good movement quality for them.

That's all I've got in me tonight. My bed looks comfortable.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Monday, 2-7-11

Monday, 2-7-11

So, over the weekend I went to Goodwill with Kyle Wilson and got a bunch of clothes for Florence (and some for myself. I don’t know why I don’t do all my shopping at Goodwill. I got three shirts, three ties, and a nice blazer for under $25). The best find for Florence was the nice pink dress shirt, which, when combined with tight black jeans, the tan blazer, and a flashy tie, served nicely to create the look of a colorful but well-fashioned young man.

We were also asked to look for a possible activity for our character, and I wanted to find something that went along with the fact that flamingos spend 15-30% of their time preening. In addition to the idea of just futzing with his clothes and his tie, I thought it would be funny if he really liked reading magazines. Like the kind of magazine that I would never touch let alone purchase and read in earnest. So I picked up a copy of “Men’s Fitness” and “Good Housekeeping.”

A lot of people seemed surprised that Florence wasn’t a girl… and later, that he wasn’t gay. Honestly, I’m not sure about Florence’s sexual orientation yet, though I’m leaning towards him being straight because it meshes better with the rest of the picture I’m developing. But as far as gender is concerned, I think it would just be a cheap way out to make the character a girl. It’s like, “oh, really, the pink, preening bird is a girl. Nice one, Thomas.” It’s not like guys are any less vain. And the pride and color of a flamingo just adds together to make for, as described above, a colorful but well-fashioned young man. Having Florence being a straight guy, frankly, gives me a lot more to play with in terms of finding the opposites and the contrasts in his character, which transitions nicely into something we were discussing today in class.

During our Monday discussion, Matt Gray addressed the problem of saying the same thing in different ways to the point where it becomes oppressive or boring. He cited Black Swan as an example where virtually every single element of the movie tells you the same information about Natalie Portman’s character. Out of that comes the wisdom: “Don’t act your costume.” Your costume gives the audience certain information about your character, and whatever information it conveys is taken care of. If you have a dorky costume, you don’t have to play “dorky” necessarily, or not overtly at least. The audience will get dorky from the costume, leaving you free to explore other aspects of the character.

It’s definitely something to keep in mind with Florence, and I think I made huge strides and discoveries with him during today’s improv (during which we interacted as our characters at various ages as Matt called them out). Florence has made interesting choices in apparel, to be sure, but that’s not necessarily a product of homosexuality or secretly wanting to be a woman. He’s just a semi-formal pink-shirted sort of guy. Flamingos are very social creatures, and they live the entirety of their quite long lives in the same flock, in the same area, secluded from other animals. So here’s Florence: he’s been raised in a slightly aristocratic American home, has a large extended family, but has struck out on his own in unfamiliar territory. He’s friendly and socially courageous, (you almost have to be coming from a family that large) but years of an isolated familial social life has contributed to a certain degree of social awkwardness with other animal-people. He’s gangly and not well-muscled, but he certainly has spunk, and he cares a lot about his image, and his appeal. Additionally, he feels a strong need to be married by the time he’s 30, which is another result of his upbringing (flamingos mate for life and raise children together), and as he’s bordering on 28 that's rapidly becoming a point of psychological desperation for him. That deep-seated drive to find a life-partner will be a fun super-objective for the character, and is a very active reason for him to engage with others. (I can imagine it being especially helpful during the Formal Dance final exercise).

(Just one historic branch of Florence's family. (It's actually the Mitford family.))

Another thing I’m playing with is the idea that not only does he like magazines, but he likes the visual lay-out and actually hopes to become a magazine designer. An artistic producer for a magazine might be his dream job. But again, he’s only recently struck out from the shallow waters and from under his family’s wing (pardon the flamingo references, they’re practically sub-conscious now) and hasn’t gotten a break yet.

He’s a distinctly auditory person as well though, and probably needs reading glasses (I have to get those, still), and so I’m still looking for a way to incorporate more of that. Maybe he’s an opera fan? That could be nice.

Anyway, today was highly productive for the creative process with Florence. On Wednesday we’ll be doing more improv work, and on Friday we need to come prepared with a Private Moment of our character’s—that is, a short scene of them on their own with a beginning, middle, and end.

On a more analytical note, I got into a discussion with someone about Iron Man 2 (which I really like, though I recognize it has many flaws) and these were my final thoughts on the matter:

I think the reason I like Iron Man 2 (perhaps not surprisingly) has more to do with what it does right than what it does wrong. I'll accept that the pacing is... well... not to sugar-coat things--awful. The action is disappointing and the fact that they pulled the same bullshit "ripping off the arc-reactor" villain plot left a lot to be desired.

But Iron Man 2 has great performances on all counts. Don Cheadle is amazing, and Gwyneth Paltrow and Robert Downey Jr. continue to have the best chemistry of any superhero movie couple. Ever. Their interpersonal plotline ALONE makes up for the movie's shortcomings, because it is so well-written and well-executed. Not only that, but we saw a lot of development of Tony's darker side. References to comic book Tony's problems with alcoholism were very present, and he overcame a significant daddy-issue in the process of saving his own life.

There was a lot going on in the movie besides the main action-plot, and that's not only what continues to make Iron Man stand out, but it's what I'm really going to see the movies for. I knew going in that at the end of the day he'd suit up and kick the bad guy's ass. What I didn't know was what was going to happen between him and Pepper Potts after the burgeoning-but-not-yet-realized romance of the first film and I was actually really happy with the place their relationship went.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Friday, 2-4-11

Friday, 2-4-11

Today in Acting we first met to debrief more about Watering Hole. A lot of interesting things were brought up, branching out from the concept of expectation reversal from Wednesday. For instance, the idea of surrender was discussed. Surrender is completely giving in to the character and to the exercise without self-judgment, and is very important to good acting. Part of what made Watering Hole successful is that everyone had completely surrendered to the exercise. We all bought in, and therefore we functioned incredibly well as an ensemble, and we all felt that. Everyone had a very positive experience with the exercise.

One thing I brought up was that it felt like a “performance.” The term “performing” sometimes has a negative connotation when you say “I could tell you were ‘performing’,” as in, something was disconnected and we could tell you were acting, as opposed to you just inhabiting the role. Watering Hole was not like that. It was the good kind of performance, where everything just clicks together better than anything has before, where the technique and the practice comes together and you don’t have to think about it because it’s in your body.

I was also reminded of the character concept of seeing, reaching, and grabbing. Different characters, and different animals, have different patterns for seeing something they want, reaching for it, and taking it (The jo-ha-kyu of acquirement). Some might spend a long time seeing something, and then reach and grab almost in the same instant. Others might see, immediately begin to reach… reach… reach… reach… and GRAB. Sudden! And whatever pattern it is, that tells you something about the character. How did my flamingo see, reach, and grab? How will Florence see, reach, and grab? I’m not sure I know the answer yet. It’s something to explore.

Another idea brought up in Watering Hole is something we covered in first semester: the concept of status. Different animals have different status compared to others, based on predator versus prey, slow-moving vs. fast moving, big vs. small, etc. A single gorilla might have less status than a single tiger, but give that same gorilla a few friends and the tiger is the one with less status. As a flamingo, I had very little status, which didn’t mean that I couldn’t approach people and be sociable; it just meant that if there was a confrontation, I usually lost. Status takes on a very different spin when we turn into humans. As all of our characters are human, no one’s in danger of being eaten, but it will be interesting to see how status either stays the same or changes between certain characters.

After we discussed Watering Hole, we warmed up and began practicing undulation, efficient movement through space common to the animal world and oddly less common in humans. We then got back into our animal characters, began an improv, and then slowly became more and more human from the feet up. We began by having human feet, and exploring those as the animals. Then we had human calves, human knees, human thighs and a human pelvis… and so on. All the while keeping our animal brains. This exercise was extremely effective because it was a good way of thinking about how our animal really would use human appendages given the chance. And that’s a good foundation for the physicality of our human characters. Florence, I realized would naturally want to flap his arms much more, and keep them clasped at his naval at other times. Florence would also walk with his upper body leaning slightly forward, perhaps leading with his nose.

These exercises were fantastic. Over the weekend, we’re supposed to go shopping for our human character and I’m very excited to come in on Monday to keep working with Florence.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Wednesday, 2-2-11

Wednesday, 2-2-11

So today was Watering Hole, and the final performance of my beautiful flamingo. We spent a good bit of time getting dressed and warmed up in smaller studios, and then once directed, we were to go out as our animals, explore the hallway, and enter the large Studio A (or the Checco) which was set up as the titular Watering Hole. Matt and Ingrid (Barbara wasn’t here today) had created a wild-animal-friendly environment, collecting food that we’d brought in and hiding or scattering it, as well as moving furniture and stair-units and gym-mats until the studio basically looked like an animal playground. There were also jungle sounds playing on the speakers.

So with wild animals everywhere and mysterious food and objects, there was plenty to look at. The way I figured, flamingos are social creatures with or without their flock, and since flamingos don’t typically cohabitate with many other animals, everyone was a potential friend or enemy. I therefore wasn’t particularly shy at first, but quickly formed endowments based on the reactions I got from other animals. For instance, when I approached the lion (Michael McGuire) he instantly began to growl and roar at me. Not flamingo-friendly. I quickly learned to give the baboons a wide birth as well. What was cool about this was how I went in with a certain set of expectations, or lack of expectations, and then altered those ideas based on the input I ended up getting. If Michael’s lion had been friendly, I wouldn’t have run off squawking. If Kyle Selig’s condor hadn’t spread his wings at me to get me to back off, I might have thought of him as a potential friend. That’s one of the key acting things to take away from this exercise: to keep the acting fresh, the character will necessarily go into a scene with a particular set of expectations, have some of those expectations turned on their heads, and must then form new opinions based on the new information that has been received.

Staying in character as the animal for a little over an hour was challenging, both physically and mentally. I kept checking in with my mask to make sure I was facially active as the flamingo. Even if I have a beak over my nose and mouth, I still make sure to wear a dopey flamingo grimace. Humans tend to communicate through the face first and let their face inform their body language, whereas animals tend to do the opposite, so cleaving to a particular mask for the animal is an effective way of keeping the physicality specific and strong.

During times of rest, I found it significantly easier to balance on one leg with my eyes closed than the first time I tried it. I guess I’ve been improving with practice. I still had to switch legs every so often, but that’s acceptable since flamingos actually do that. Though I think the part of my costume I’m still least happy with is the wings, they worked well enough and kept me aware of my body, as well as helping to achieve the general body shape of the flamingo. If we were continuing with our animals I’d probably look at changing the grips on them; my hands were cramping up painfully today. They were nice though because if something brushed my wing, I could feel it instantly and reacted accordingly.

Eventually, the predators were told to stalk their prey, and then to bring their prey down (with the care and consideration due to fellow performers). I wasn’t sure if anyone was going to think I was worth the trouble, considering how much scrawny neck and leg there is on a flamingo compared to the amount of meat. Then again, I was pink and defenseless. A baboon (Josh Buckwald) took me down and feasted on my corpse.

So that was the end of my flamingo, and the end of the first part of Animal Projects. The next task is to transform our animals into human characters based on our animals. I’m very excited for that. I’m especially interested in using some of the resonator work we’ve been practicing in my Voice/Alexander for my flamingo character, who shall hereafter be named Florence until I decide on a different name. He should use a high-up resonator to make him sound fragile and innocent. Though I don’t want to go too innocent or child-like with it, because I think Florence will have quite a high and cultured opinion of himself. Of course, these are all very preliminary ideas and are therefore entirely subject to change. Expectations were made to be flipped and assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups. But that’s where I am with it right now. Can’t wait to see where it ends up.

Oh hey: pictures!

(Lookin' fly with my girl Nicky as an Elephant)

(Brittany is a gibbon, and I am a flamingo)

(Carter is a rhinoceros, and I am still a flamingo)

(Josh is a mandrill and HE ATE ME)

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

The Birth of Hedonism – On the Existence of an Artistic Socrates

This is not an entry for my Acting journal. It's an essay I wrote in response to Nietzsche's The Birth of Tragedy in which I make the argument in justification of my own suggested fifth impulse (the first four being the Apollinian, the Dionysian, the Tragic, and the Socratic) that synthesizes the Tragic and the Socratic.

The Birth of Hedonism – On the Existence of an Artistic Socrates

Friederich Nietzsche’s The Birth of Tragedy described how humanity responded to a chaotic world by forging perspectives, or impulses, with which to live and find meaning. Of these, Nietzsche named the Apollinian and the Dionysian as the most fundamental, and theorized that the Tragic impulse was invented by the Greeks as a synthesis of the two. Furthermore, he stated that almost immediately following the invention of the Tragic impulse, an opposing impulse was generated as a natural reaction: the Socratic impulse. Where the Tragic impulse suggests that strife and struggle without a goal is the source of life’s meaning, the Socratic impulse suggests it is the infinite pursuit of a goal that exists, but is impossible to achieve (though adherents to the Socratic ideal would say that it is possible; it is just also horrendously difficult). More specifically, the Tragic ideal is that the meaning of life is found in the ongoing attempt to live a productive and fulfilling existence—in the sense that we naturally strive to be productive and self-fulfilling—despite the true chaos of the world ultimately destroying us. The Socratic ideal is that knowledge or truth is the equivalent of virtue, and thus individuals of a Socratic mindset find the meaning of life in the ongoing attempt to acquire truth, to understand and to dispense with illusion until there are no more illusions or mysteries to be penetrated. The key difference being that the Tragic system of meaning is based upon the nonexistence of any tangible goal and the reconciliation of oneself with fate, while the Socratic system of meaning is based upon the existence of a tangible goal, namely truth, and the refusal to reconcile with existing unknowns. Nietzsche asks in section 15 of Birth of Tragedy if the interdependence between the Tragic and the Socratic impulses will lead to “ever-new configurations of genius and especially of the Socrates who practices music?” (98). I would argue that a fifth impulse of this kind has already been formulated in human society, an impulse that I will term the Hedonic impulse, and that it not only has synthesized the Tragic and the Socratic but has resulted in its own antithetical and yet symbiotic impulse.

Nietzsche describes how through tragedy “Dionysus no longer speaks through forces but as an epic hero,” combining the mythology and constructed regulation of the Apollinian with the chaotic truth of the Dionysian to form a new and distinct system of meaning, and in that same way, the hallmarks of the Tragic and the Socratic impulses form, in turn, the foundations of the Hedonic impulse (67). Nietzsche refers in section 9 of Birth of Tragedy to the story of Oedipus as an example of Greek Tragedy’s greatest achievements, to illustrate how meaning is found in the struggle despite eventual destruction. Oedipus, “in spite of his wisdom, is destined to error and misery, but… through his tremendous suffering, spreads a magical power of blessing that remains effective beyond his own decease,” (67). On the other hand, the Socratic ideal emphasizes the dogged pursuit of a goal: knowledge, truth, and the piercing of all illusion. The Hedonic impulse synthesizes the Tragic and the Socratic firstly by combining the Tragic denial of any objective with the Socratic insistence on an objective, forming what I will term an extended objective. An extended objective cannot be achieved in the traditional sense, for it is not a particular or tangible goal like “absolute knowledge” is. An extended objective does, however, provide something to pursue, which is in itself a self-fulfilling objective, for as long as the pursuit is made, the outcome is a success. The Hedonic impulse thus suggests that meaning can be found in the extended objective of maximizing one’s own virtue: not to an infinite level, but just as much as is possible within a life-time. This combines the Tragic structure of meaning, where meaning is found through striving without a target, and the Socratic structure of meaning, where meaning is found in the struggle towards a definitive goal, by suggesting that the target is neither definitive nor nonexistent, while still emphasizing the importance of struggle. It is a life-affirming perspective because the longer one can stay alive, active, and aware, the more one can fulfill the extended objective of the Hedonic impulse.

It is necessary at this point to define precisely what I mean by virtue, as well as to describe the second vital way that the Hedonic synthesizes the Tragic and the Socratic. While the Tragic impulse is exemplified through art, and the Socratic through knowledge, the Hedonic impulse requires both in the pursuit of its extended objective. After all, an artist without any understanding of truth would be unable to produce anything recognizable (for recognition itself depends upon certain commonalities of “truth,” insofar as something is empirically true), while a seeker of knowledge without any art would find it very difficult to be happy in the face of all the ugliness he revealed. Virtue, as it is used in the Hedonic impulse, is a combination of the Socratic ideal that virtue is truth and the more subtle virtues of the Tragic, such as art and struggle. If truth, art, and struggle are interwoven, I would argue that the most comprehensible understanding of this amalgam would be a process by which truth and art (illusion) are selectively combined to form an optimal and pleasurable understanding of the world, and that this optimal understanding yields the greatest virtue to the Hedonic man. This optimal and pleasurable understanding is indeed a combination of truths and lies, arrived at by selectively choosing which lies to pierce and which to maintain, or even cultivate. Thus, the Hedonic impulse’s virtue is a personal understanding of the world where art and truth have been melded to form an optimal, pleasurable understanding, where things that can be changed for the better are understood and worked at, and things that cannot be changed are ignored or smoothed over. In this way, the Hedonic impulse suggests that meaning is found in the pursuit of one’s own Hedonic virtue by finding true sources of pleasure where he can (such as working hard to earn a respected position) and patching over chaotic or ugly truths with illusions. Hedonic art glorifies positive experience, such as love, achievement, and humor, while making negative experiences tolerable, through the sense of commiseration and empathy inherent to all art. Hedonic knowledge also serves to heighten personal virtue, for through the pursuit of knowledge one may uncover new truths of a beneficial nature. Though Nietzsche argued that knowledge was not virtuous or pleasurable, in a context where knowledge is gathered in order to refine a more perfect, pleasurable worldview, that knowledge does have the potential to be valuable. For instance, Hedonic knowledge might serve to prevent negative experience that could be reasonably avoided, and where falsehoods are needed, they are reconstructed. In this way, the Hedonic comprises both the Socratic and the Tragic in the name of its extended objective, though tuning each to its own specific requirement in order to form something disparate.

It seems important, given the terminology of the Hedonic impulse, to clarify that it is not a hacked misunderstanding of “Greek cheerfulness” that Nietzsche describes in Birth of Tragedy. “Greek cheerfulness” is itself divided into two separate things by Nietzsche—the first being a result of Tragic ideology and the second a result of Socratic philosophy. “Greek cheerfulness” originated, Nietzsche says, as the “necessary effects of a glance into the inside and terrors of nature,” as a vital Apollinian sense of self-preservation in reaction to exposure to the Dionysian truth of the world (67). After Euripides destroyed tragedy, Nietzsche argues, “the passing moment, wit, levity, and caprice [became Hellenism’s] highest deities,” and this aimless butchery of “Greek cheerfulness” was really “the cheerfulness of the slave who has nothing of consequence to be responsible for, nothing great to strive for, and who does not value anything in the past or future higher than the present,” (78). This is key. While the Tragic concept of “Greek cheerfulness” is an optimal state of mind where unpleasant truths are coped with through Apollinian illusion; and the Socratic concept is a shallow frivolity; the Hedonic impulse values virtue and pleasure as a life-long struggle, a self-fulfilling process, a closer relative to the Tragic “Greek cheerfulness” but with greater specificity and purpose. And it cannot be the Socratic “cheerfulness,” for to assemble truth and illusion into Hedonic virtue is a serious and difficult task, and to value nothing but the present without thought of past precedent or future consequence will quickly countermine this pursuit. There is a responsibility associated with the Hedonic ideal, a responsibility to oneself and to the continued molding of one’s own Hedonic virtue, which often calls for mature and carefully measured behavior.

Here is where an opposing impulse splits off from the Hedonic and presents a diametrical view. In response to the Hedonic ideal of responsibility to oneself, it was asked, but what of responsibility to others? The term “hedonism” has often been branded as thoughtless, and associated with intoxication and irresponsibility, which is why it is so important that I make the distinction clear between “hedonism” and all its connotations and the Hedonic impulse that I have named. Indeed, “hedonism” is far more similar to the Dionysian impulse (note the words I used above: ‘thoughtless,’ ‘intoxication,’ and ‘irresponsibility’), and those who gave “hedonism” its bad name were likely closer in ideology to the wild Dionysian than to the carefully plotted Hedonic. Nevertheless, whether out of misunderstanding or out of simple difference of opinion, humanity produced a sixth impulse that claims that the extended objective and source of meaning from life should be the maximization of other’s virtue in life: the Charitable impulse. In section 12, Nietzsche describes how on behalf of the Socratic impulse Euripides asked, “Is the Dionysian entitled to exist at all?,” and in the same way that the Socratic seeks to obliterate the Dionysian, it is arguable that the Charitable impulse seeks to obliterate the Socratic (81). I say this because the true follower of the Charitable impulse would give himself entirely over to others, which leaves no room for the personal pursuit of knowledge (which is necessary to the construction of Hedonic virtue, as argued above). Just as Oedipus, the true tragic hero, is said by Nietzsche to have spread “a magical power of blessing” through his struggle, it may be said that the Charitable man (in contrast to the theoretical man) devotes his self and his Tragic struggle to the uplifting of others, essentially enslaving himself willingly (67). The Charitable man would seek to give others the optimal worldview that the Hedonic man attempts to construct, and would thus be left with the hopeless task of somehow reconciling all the world’s problems.

Though I could write a great deal more on the Charitable impulse, the focus here is on the Hedonic. I bring up the former only to illustrate how these impulses are interdependent in society, just as Nietzsche argued that the Tragic and the Socratic were interdependent. Just as no society could be fully Socratic, since Nietzsche said there must always be a “slave class,” no society could be fully Charitable, because if all people submitted their will to each other, no one would have the will to lead since leading, being master, and even thinking for oneself are in contravention of the Charitable impulse. Additionally, just as Nietzsche argues that to be fully Tragic is difficult and therefore requires an alternative, to be fully Hedonic is difficult as well, and it is sometimes necessary to open one’s eyes to other world-views and reexamine ugly truths. In fact, such instances of the Charitable in fact form a symbiotic relationship with the Hedonic, and the tricky balance of interplay between responsibility to self and responsibility to others may ultimately be the most fulfilling approach to both impulses.




Works Cited
Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm, and Walter Arnold. Kaufmann. Basic Writings of Nietzsche. New York: Modern Library, 2000. Print.